In sixth grade my teacher, Mrs. Keech, gave me an assignment. It was called "My Life List." It's a list of goals I want to do before I die. One of the things on that list is:
-dye my hair blonde.
I was walking downtown and saw a nice salon. I thought to myself:
why not?
So I went in and tried to explain to the hair dresser what I wanted. I pointed at a color. He said, si. So I plopped down in the chair. He walked out of the room.
I sat there for a few minutes. I'm scared...maybe this isn't a good idea. I thought. What if I make a run for it? Just as I got up, he came back in. I smiled shyly and sat down. I can always dye it back.
He pulled my hair back and put a swimmers cap on my head. What is he doing?
Next he took a needle and started poking holes in the cap! He swirled the needle around my hair then yanked it through the hole. One word sums up what I felt:
PAIN.
HUNDREDS OF TINY HOLES AND TONS OF PAIN. 6 hours of pain to be exact.
Then he bleached my hair...not once, but twice. He was young and I think I was his guinia pig...but I really dont know because I couldn't understand a word he said. He refused to speak slower.
Anywhoo...my hair looks fine now. At least I think so :) It's not quite blonde yet.
